


Rumor Has It

by parseltonquinq



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco loves it, M/M, Muggle AU, Quidditch AU, harry is a little shit who hates the press, in the best way, pansy is a menace, they play for puddlemere united
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7407361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parseltonquinq/pseuds/parseltonquinq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once an article speculating about Harry and Draco’s supposed relationship is released, everyone eats it up. There’s just one problem—they aren’t actually dating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rumor Has It

Harry tipped his seat on the two back legs, rocking softly and trying not to tune out the host. He and Draco had been asked to come onto some talk show to talk about Puddlemere—how the team was doing, what they thought about other teams, what they thought about the fans’… _enthusiasm_. Harry hated doing press like this and if his coach hadn’t asked him personally, he doubted he would’ve come at all. Draco came because he was excellent in interviews and knew Harry would need the support should someone ask an indelicate question.

“You two are Puddlemere’s golden boys,” the host said, aiming for flattery before the question, “and the fans know this. What does it feel like to be idolized by so many people?”

Continuing to rock, Harry didn’t listen to what Draco was saying, not being able to think of much else but getting out of the studio. He was rocking back when Draco put a firm hand on his leg, forcing him to rest all four chair legs on solid ground. Harry struggled not to sigh, instead slouching a bit in his chair. Draco’s hand was warm and seemed to have rooted him into place. He looked up at his friend, who was smiling at the host, responding eloquently.

“…pressure is difficult to manage at times, but in the end it’s a bit mind-blowing to be able to influence so many lives simply by doing what we love.” He looked to Harry, as if making sure what he said applied to him as well, and Harry’s lips curved up minutely as he nodded in agreement.

“Now, I know that your fans can be a bit _rowdy_ at times, throwing things onto the pitch or bringing signs or having you sign crazy things at meet-and-greets.”

Draco laughed. “Ah, yes.” He grinned at Harry. “It’s a running joke amongst all of us because at _every_ game or meet-and-greet, Harry is presented with some sort of underwear.”

Harry groaned and he heard cheers and whistles in the audience. The host laughed. “Really?”

“They’re not always _clean_ , mind you,” Draco said wryly. Wolf whistles erupted once more. “They range from dirty underwear to bras that are still warm to boxers still in the packaging.” Harry ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes, hoping he wasn’t blushing. “He’s a fan-favorite for sure.”

“I can’t understand why,” Harry said dryly. Draco smiled at him, glad to see him talking, and he felt warmth bloom in his chest.

“Now, I know that this has happened ever since you joined the team as the Seeker,” the host said, now speaking to Harry, “so how does it work out if you’re dating someone? Does that present as a problem at times?”

“Um,” Harry chewed on his bottom lip, uncomfortable talking about his dating life on television, but answered nonetheless, “it’s a problem sometimes, yes, because sometimes the person I’m dating will get jealous. Usually, though, it’s not too much of an issue because they know that they have to share me with the fans—a lot of times, in fact, partners have thought it was hilarious.”

“You and Ginny Weasley, from the Holyhead Harpies, have dated before, correct?”

Harry nodded. “Yes.”

“How did she feel about all of this? We had her on the show recently, in fact—do you two still keep in touch?”

He knew this would turn into an interview about his personal life. “Yeah, of course, Gin and I are still really good friends. She thought it was hilarious—in fact, sometimes she’d even hide out in the stands and hand out underwear for people to throw at me after the game.”

The host laughed. “You’ve also dated Oliver Wood, yes? Your team’s Keeper?”

Harry smiled thinly and Draco squeezed his knee reassuringly. “Yes.”

“And how-”

Draco interrupted him smoothly, “Oliver _is_ our team’s Keeper, as well as the team captain. He’s been completely whipping us back into shape after our off-season,” Draco said.

“Ah, _right_ , yes,” the host said, following Draco. Harry didn’t listen to what he said next, instead putting his hand on top of Draco’s and squeezing once, gratefully, before crossing his arms over his chest again.

He _hated_ the press.

* * *

Draco was making himself a cup of tea in his hotel room when Pansy firecalled. 

“Can I help you?” He stirred some sugar into his tea, then walked over to sit before the fire.

“Is it true?” She demanded, beaming.

“Is _what_ true?”

“You and Potter.”

“What _about_ me and Potter?” Draco asked, his brow furrowing.

Pansy sighed. “Have you not read the _Prophet_ yet?”

“No…” Draco said slowly. “Why?”

Pansy grinned. “Nothing. Call me when you’ve read it, will you?”

With that, she was gone. Frowning, Draco immediately stood and walked over to the table the owl had dropped his paper on. Plopping his tea down, he curled himself up on the chair and pulled the paper toward him. His eyes instantly widened.

Right there, on the front page, in one of the side columns, was a picture of he and Harry smiling at one another after a game, their arms around each other, the snitch still clutched in Harry’s hand. The title below it said, ‘ _Why We Think These Two Are Dating_.’ His eyes widened and he instantly flicked through the paper, to the page directed by the caption on the front.

He scanned the article, feeling his face heat up and his heart start to pound. He had to admit that the pictures on the page were quite compromising—Draco and Harry laughing as Draco helped him wipe some ice cream off the corner of his mouth; Harry’s arm slung over Draco’s shoulders, his head resting on Draco, as they waited in a line for coffee; the two of them leaving a Muggle nightclub together; Draco standing behind Harry, his hands shoved into the pockets of Harry’s hoodie, Harry laughing; Harry chasing Draco around after a practice, both of them shirtless, Harry tackling him down onto the pitch. At the time, they had been completely innocent, all just taken at inopportune moments, but looking at the pictures now, Draco would have believed they were a couple if he hadn’t known for a fact that they were not.

If he stared at the picture of Harry leaning against him in the coffee shop for longer than strictly necessary, that was nobody’s business but his.

He read to the bottom of the page, then he swore softly. To conclude the article, a picture of he and Harry at the talk show the day before was the most compromising of all. His hand was just above Harry’s knee and in the picture, Harry smiled at him before placing his hand atop Draco’s, squeezing it. He wondered who had taken it, as the table they were sitting behind had hid it at the time.

He swore again, then stared at the picture again. Then swore again, then stared again.

He wasn’t stupid—he didn’t need a news article to tell him what he already knew. He knew that he and Harry had chemistry and were closer than typical friends, or even teammates, were.

The truth was, they both knew that they were more than friends. Draco didn’t miss the way Harry’s eyes lingered on him for longer than strictly necessary and knew that Harry wasn’t oblivious to the way Draco used any excuse to initiate physical contact. They weren’t blind. He just knew that neither of them wanted to potentially ruin the friendship they had pieced together with the remnants of their rivalry.

Draco wondered what Harry thought.

* * *

Harry had just come out of the shower, running his fingers through his wet hair, his towel wrapped around his waist, heading toward his dresser in the hotel room, when he saw Draco perched in one of the armchairs by his windows, arms crossed and deep in thought. Harry froze and looked at him, dressed in crisp trousers and a light blue shirt, and gulped. He could feel beads of water racing down his chest and back.

“Hey, you wanna be a little creepier?”

That snapped Draco out of whatever thought had consumed him, as he blinked, then blinked again and blushed when he realized Harry was wearing nothing but a towel hung low on his hips. Harry could feel locks of his hair curling around his fingers as he got back into motion, pushing his hair back. Draco’s eyes tracked his movements.

“Have you seen the _Prophet_ yet?” Draco asked, his cheeks and the tips of his ears still pink.

Harry frowned and sat on the edge of the bed, facing Draco. “No. Why?”

Draco sighed. “I don’t know if you want to.”

“Why, what does it say?”

Draco shook his head, then tossed Harry a copy. Harry knit his brows, then scanned the front page. His jaw clenched when he saw the picture of he and Draco after one of their games. He instantly flipped to the page the article was on, then felt the blood drain from his face. The pictures of he and Draco were all taken at just the right moment. He groaned at the one at the bottom of the page of him squeezing Draco’s hand.

“Christ,” Harry muttered.

“I know,” Draco said.

“Why can’t people just mind their own business?” Harry leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and pushed his hair back again. “Don’t they have more important things to worry about than whether or not we’re fucking?”

“Apparently not.” Draco crossed one leg over the other. “What should we do? You know this means that there will be more reporters and photographers following both of us now. Are we going to address it?”

Harry grimaced. “Can’t we just say ‘no comment’ and tell them to screw off?”

“I suppose we could,” Draco said, smirking.

After a moment or two, Draco stood and tucked his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “Sorry for barging in, I just wanted to talk to you whilst we had the privacy of the hotel.”

“Don’t be—you’re always welcome,” Harry said sincerely.

The expression on Draco’s face was inscrutable. He cleared his throat before heading toward Harry’s door. Harry stood to let him out. Once they were at the door, Draco turned to face him.

“You’ll be coming to the League’s gala, right?”

Harry nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said dryly.

Draco chuckled. “I’ll see you there, then.”

* * *

Draco was pressing a cutting he’d taken from his mother’s garden into a book when Pansy barged into their apartment, waving a copy of _Witch Weekly_. Her sleek hair was ruffled slightly and she looked terrifying. She strode right up to Draco and smacked the side of his head, none too gently. He protested, bringing his hands up to shield himself against further attacks.

“What the _hell_?” He demanded, eyes wide.

“I thought we didn’t keep secrets! You told me the two of you weren’t fucking!”

“ _What_?” Draco’s eyes widened, bewildered.

Pansy slammed down the magazine on top of Draco’s book, then crossed her arms over her chest. Draco’s mouth went dry. Right there, on the front page, was a picture of him leaving Harry’s hotel room, Harry wearing nothing but the towel. Draco swore.

“God, who even took this picture?” He groaned, rubbing his face.

“Well?” Pansy prompted.

“I was in his room because we were talking about what we’d say to the rumors. We didn’t fuck—he’d just come out of the shower.” Draco buried his face in his hands, then peeked out between his fingers to look at the picture again. He could feel his skin heating up simply remembering being alone with Harry whilst the other man had a towel hung _very low_ on his hips. Honestly, he prided himself on his self-control.

“Damn,” Pansy muttered, “I was hoping the two of you had finally got your heads out of your asses.” She took back the magazine, then studied it. “You know, Quidditch really _has_ done wonders for Potter’s body. I mean, look at those abs—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Draco interrupted.

“And those arms—”

“Pans—”

“Don’t even get me started on that chest—”

“ _Pansy!_ ” Draco blurted out, knowing he was blushing.

“Okay, _okay,_ ” she said, grinning.

“What am I going to _do_ about this?” Draco bemoaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’re going to climb him like a tree,” Pansy said, very helpfully.

Draco shot her a half-hearted glare. “Very funny.”

“I try,” Pansy said, ruffling Draco’s hair. “Now, you two need to get your shit together. Don’t make me call in the big guns.”

“The big guns?” Draco raised a brow.

“Granger.”

Pansy was a _menace._

“Don’t you dare. She’s _terrifying_.”

“But she’d get the job done.”

“Fine, fine,” Draco muttered. “I’ll talk to him at the gala.”

“Good.” Pansy smiled.

Draco hated her.

* * *

Draco Apparated to the gala, then straightened out his robes. Cameras instantly turned to him and began flashing. He smiled for a few of them before walking down the carpet, toward the entrance. He tried to ignore the questions being flung at him.

“Draco, is it true about you and Harry Potter?”

“Where’s Mr. Potter tonight?”

“Where are your robes from?”

“Is Harry Potter’s _wand_ really nine inches?”

Draco’s jaw nearly dropped at the last question, but he maintained a polite smile. He could tell when Harry arrived because suddenly Harry’s name was being screamed instead of his.

He needed a drink.

* * *

Harry made his way amongst his friends, chatting good-naturedly with his teammates, with rival players, with old classmates. The entire time, he was inexplicably aware of where in the room Draco was. He had trouble focusing on much else.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t realized that they were closer than typical friends, but all the articles and pictures showed him just _how_ close they were. Upon realizing that he wished the pictures were more than just friendly gestures, he had wondered if Draco felt the same.

Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, all interested in Harry and Draco. There were photographers everywhere and Harry had to stifle his frustration. He wondered when things had gotten so complicated. If he’d thought the press was bad before…

“I think I’ll go get myself a drink,” Harry said to Gwenog Jones, whom he had been chatting with.

“I don’t blame you,” she said, grinning and clapping him on the back.

He could feel eyes on him as he made his way to the bar, stopping a few times to exchange hellos with people he knew or who wanted to introduce themselves to The Savior. Finally, he made his way to the bar and ordered a firewhisky.

He downed it in one go and was about to order himself another when he felt someone come up behind him. He tensed until the scent of expensive cologne hit his nostrils and he realized it was Draco.

“Easy there,” Draco said, eyeing Harry’s empty tumbler.

He was wearing fitted silver robes that brought out his eyes and his hair was slicked back. His eyes were soft, as was his smile.

“I hate the press,” Harry grumbled.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Draco said with a grin. Harry couldn’t help the warmth that unfolded within his chest. He wished he could blame it all on the firewhisky.

“Do you want to go somewhere more private?” Harry asked quietly, his heart thudding.

Draco’s eyes widened and he blushed. “What?”

“To talk.”

“Oh! Right. Yes, _yes_ , we should talk.”

They slipped out of the ballroom together, then walked quietly to the lobby of the building. Harry looked around before grabbing hold of Draco’s arm and Apparating them to his flat.

* * *

Harry let go of Draco’s arm, then stepped away a bit. Draco took in his flat—it was an industrial-looking loft with lots of metal columns and beams and exposed brick. Huge picture windows took up an entire wall and Draco could see the whole city through them. It was more cluttered than he and Pansy’s apartment, but looked very lived-in. Knitted blankets were thrown over the backs of his sofa and chairs, brooms were propped up in corners, and all-in-all, it simply looked cozy.

“So,” Draco said, feeling the need to break the heavy silence, “the rumors haven’t died down yet.”

“I’m not sure what to do about it.” Harry crossed his arms over his chest and knit his brow, settling down on the arm of his sofa. “I could always say I was dating someone else. Like Gwenog or Wilda or… or Merwin or somebody.”

Draco nodded, feeling his heart constrict. “You… you could.”

Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I really don’t want to do that.”

“It would make it hard to date other people,” Draco said, “even if Gwenog or the others did happen to agree.”

Harry sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and Draco had to look away. “I mean, we _could_ just confirm the rumors and pretend to date, then just wait for it to all die down.”

Draco briefly considered that, imagined holding hands with Harry in public, exchanging chaste kisses, being around him all the time. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle it. “I’m not sure if that’s the best idea,” he said.

“You’re right,” Harry said quickly. “I shouldn’t have suggested it.”

They were both quiet for a long time. Draco’s heart was pounding and he hated that he felt like a teenager with his first crush again. He looked up when Harry swore softly.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Harry said suddenly.

“What?” Draco wondered what he’d done.

Harry swiftly pushed himself up off the sofa and walked up to Draco. His eyes locked with Harry’s bright green ones and he felt all the breath leave him as Harry’s hands rose to cup Draco’s face. Harry leaned forward slowly, giving Draco enough time to pull away, then his lips were on Draco’s and Draco couldn’t breathe.

Harry pulled back and his eyes searched Draco’s. Draco was frozen.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that—” Harry began to back up.

Blinking away the shock, Draco quickly recovered, grabbing Harry by the front of his robes and yanking him back against his body, covering his mouth with his own. They both let out low groans and then Harry’s hands were everywhere—in Draco’s hair, on his lower back, clenching his hip, cradling his neck. Harry kissed like he was devouring him and Draco had never felt so turned on considering Harry’s tongue wasn’t even in his mouth yet.

Harry bit down on Draco’s bottom lip, causing his mouth to drop open in a silent gasp, then Harry’s tongue was sweeping through Draco’s mouth. He tasted like firewhisky and mint and Draco couldn’t get enough. Their kisses were sloppy, all desperation, and what they currently lacked in finesse, they more than made up for in passion.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Draco muttered, tugging at Harry’s robes, pulling back momentarily to work at the clasps.

As he worked at the clasps of Harry’s robes, Harry sucked and nibbled up his neck, across his jaw, at his earlobe. Draco groaned.

“I’m trying to concentrate,” he panted.

“You talk too much.”

Harry pulled his wand from his pocket, then murmured something beneath his breath. Their robes went flying off and hung across the back of the sofa. Draco was about to tell him that that would have been helpful a bit earlier, but then Harry’s hands were all over him and his tongue was back in his mouth. His fingers traced Harry’s spine, his muscled chest and arms, his toned abdomen. Harry hissed softly between his teeth when Draco’s thumbs massaged his hipbones.

“Upstairs,” Harry groaned, “ _now_.”

* * *

The press was having a field day. Cameras followed them wherever they went and Harry had to struggle not to do anything that Draco would call “counterproductive” or “grounds for no sex.”

Pictures of he and Draco were still covering magazines, but this time they were much less discreet. Harry would cut them out of the issues and tape them to his fridge, to Draco’s horror and amusement. His fridge was nearly covered and he’d started to keep a scrapbook of the particularly nsfw ones: the two of them making out at a nightclub, grinding their hips; Harry not-so-subtly groping Draco’s ass in the line of a Muggle food truck; Draco pushed up against the wall with Harry’s hands between them, out of sight, at some party; Draco leaning against his shoulder, his hand tucked in Harry’s back pocket.

While Harry wasn’t pleased with the amount of press surrounding their relationship, he knew it would die down eventually. Until then, he would continue to enjoy these moments captured between the two of them. And scandalizing the press. But mostly the former. 


End file.
